


steady hands

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [47]
Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 21:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: The last thing Andrew expects to wake up to on a Saturday is a wordless yelp of pain and the subsequent clatter of something metal striking tile.(or, Steven burns himself while making muffins, and Andrew is there to help.)





	steady hands

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for a lovely nonny on tumblr, who asked for, _"I’m a big sucker for hurt/comfort fics so for a prompt suggestion: Steven gets hurt or something and Andrew freaks out. Maybe angst with a happy ending?"_ Per usual, this is lite™ angst and is mainly just fluff. 
> 
> warning for description of a burn. I've never actually had a burn this badly (thank god) so this whole thing is based on Google research.

The last thing Andrew expects to wake up to on a Saturday is a wordless yelp of pain and the subsequent clatter of something metal striking tile.

It takes a few moments for his mind, still fully addled with sleep, to connect the dots, for the gears in his brain to slowly click from point A to point B to point C.

Point A: he’s alone in their bed. That’s easy enough to discern; even if they fall asleep half a foot apart, without fail, if Andrew wakes up before Steven, he finds that they’ve gravitated together in the night, that they’re touching _somewhere_ , even if it’s only their toes. But there’s nothing touching Andrew now besides the bedding; the only body heat soaking into the mattress is his own.

Point B: He hasn’t heard a sound beyond the initial yelp and clatter, which means that the sounds probably weren’t coming from the television or from a video on Steven’s phone.

Point C: Which probably means that the sound came from Steven.

That realization jabs into Andrew’s slumbering brain like a knife point. 

After tossing the blanket back, he jumps out of bed too fast for his lethargic limbs to handle and nearly ends up sprawled on the floor. His vision flickers and blacks out from getting up too fast, and he forces himself to pause for a minute, hand braced against the closet, until he can see again, before he keeps moving.

“Steven?” he calls out as he steps out of the bedroom. His voice is little more than a dry rasp, and he buries a jaw-cracking yawn into the crook of his elbow as he moves down the hallway.

“I’m in the kitchen.” Steven’s voice is quiet, and there’s a distinct thickness to it that sounds an awful lot like he’s holding back tears. Andrew’s stomach drops even further as he turns into the kitchen and pauses in the doorway for a moment, rubbing the sleep gunk out of his eyes so he can better focus on the sight before him.

Steven is sitting on the floor with his back braced against the cabinet under the sink, legs stretched out, bare feet poking out from his favorite pair of sweatpants. There's a pair of oven gloves resting beside him, and there’s a muffin tray lying upside down on the floor by his feet, raised slightly off the tile by the muffin tops themselves. There’s an angry burn bisecting the inside of his left bicep, an inch or so below the sleeve of his shirt, the color shockingly red against his skin. After a moment, Steven looks up from the burn and smiles a little, although it doesn’t reach his damp eyes.

“Surprise?” he says weakly, waving his uninjured arm at the muffin tray. 

That’s what gets Andrew moving. 

“What happened?” he asks, turning off the oven and making sure that the door is firmly closed before he sinks down between Steven’s legs.

“I was trying to take the muffins out and someone honked their horn outside. Like, _right_ outside. And I jumped. And now our breakfast is gathering dust on the floor.” Andrew gently takes Steven’s left arm so he can get a better look at the burn. It’s about three inches long and half an inch wide, an angry crimson that makes Andrew suspect it’s second-degree.

Thankfully, if there’s one thing working in the Tasty kitchens has taught him, it’s how to deal with a burn.

“C’mon,” he says, taking Steven’s other hand and tugging him up to his feet. “We have to cool it down.”

Once they’re in the bathroom, he starts running the cold water from the bathtub faucet while Steven awkwardly works his shirt off with one hand. At one point, he hisses sharply through his teeth, and Andrew helps him the rest of the way, flicks the shirt out into the hallway before he gets Steven to sit down on the edge of the tub.

“This is going to hurt more, isn’t it?” Steven asks, glancing from the burn to the water pouring from the faucet.

“For a bit,” Andrew answers truthfully, wishing he had a better answer. “But it’ll help in the long run.”

“Okay.” Steven takes a deep breath before he stretches his arm into the tub and lines the burn up with the water. As soon as it makes contact, he hisses again, and his free hand waves around until Andrew takes it in his own.

“I’m sorry that it hurts.” As Steven squeezes his hand hard enough for Andrew’s knuckles to ache and shift, Andrew presses his mouth to the bare line of his shoulder, leaves it resting there so that his next words are spoken against Steven’s skin. “We just have to do this for ten minutes.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Andrew gets up just long enough to grab his phone from the bedroom and set a timer for ten minutes. After he's placed it on the edge of the sink, he sits back down on the ledge of the bathtub and takes up where he left off, with Steven's hand between both of his own.

“What kind of muffins were you making?” he asks, hoping that the question will give Steven some kind of distraction from the pain.

“Blueberry oatmeal. Rie said they were supposed to be good.”

“We can try to make them again later, if you want.” He presses another kiss to the tip of Steven’s collarbone, where it flares out toward his shoulder. 

“Only if you’ll handle the oven,” Steven replies, leaning into Andrew’s side with a sigh. “I’m not going two for two today.”

“Deal.”

While the faucet continues to run, they talk idly about work, about the next episode of Eating Your Feed and the latest disastrous experiment in the Tasty kitchen that had led to the fire department getting called. The minutes pass by quickly, and when Andrew’s phone goes off, Steven uses his uninjured arm to twist the faucet off.

“Now what?” he asks. When he twists around, stray water droplets spray across the floor in front of them, glide down his arm and soak into the bath mat.

“Now we have to clean it. And then we can cover it up.” 

Once they’ve washed it and rinsed it off again, Andrew rummages through the first aid kit stashed under the sink until he finds some gauze. When he kneels on the bath mat between Steven’s legs, water soaks through the knees of his pajama pants. There’s more of it sprayed across the ledge of the bathtub, dappling the tiles, dripping down Steven’s arm and chest and soaking into his sweatpants.

Frankly, Andrew hasn’t seen the bathroom be this much of a disaster since the first (and last time, thus far) they’d decided to try having shower sex. It’s probably not the best thought to be having at the moment, but he can’t help but laugh as he hands Steven a towel and peels the plastic wrapping off the gauze.

“What?” Steven asks with the barest hint of a smile. After he's toweled himself dry, he stretches his arm out so Andrew can secure the gauze over the burn.

“Nothing. Was just thinking of the last time we made this much of a mess in here.” On cue, Steven’s cheeks flush dark, and he drops his free hand to Andrew’s shoulder.

“At least _that_ was fun. Mostly. Except for the parts where we almost slipped.” As his long fingers absently trail down Andrew’s arm, over the bend of his elbow to the curve of his wrist, Andrew's mind makes another connection between this situation and another, but he waits until the gauze is firmly secured to say anything.

“Are you sure you didn’t do this on purpose?” When Steven’s face scrunches in confusion, Andrew turns his own arm so that the burn scar striped across the inside of his right bicep is clearly visible. “I mean, I get it. Matching scars. It’s kinda romantic, in a messed up way.”

Steven’s laugh echoes around the small room. 

“I like when our outfits match, but I’m _not_ that dedicated.” All sounds of pain are gone from his voice, and there’s not a glimmer of dampness in his eyes.

“Alright. Whatever you say, Steven,” Andrew teases, tossing everything in the garbage before he leans in and brushes his mouth to the soft patch of skin just below the edge of the gauze. Before he can follow the brush up with another, Steven winds his free arm around Andrew’s neck and pulls him up into a kiss that lasts until Andrew can’t breathe. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steven murmurs once he’s pulled away, fingers lightly sliding up into Andrew’s hair.

“You’d do the same for me,” Andrew answers, and there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s a true statement. “Wanna drive out to A-Frame for brunch? I have it on good authority that pancakes make burns heal faster.”

“Are you the good authority?” Steven raises an eyebrow and knocks one of his knees into Andrew’s side.

“Maybe.” Andrew tries not to laugh and fails spectacularly, and Steven joins him before they fall into another kiss, messier than the last. When they break apart, Steven drops his forehead against Andrew’s and sighs contently. He looks so utterly beautiful, soft and familiar and happy, that Andrew has a hard time reconciling the sight with how Steven had been when he’d walked into the kitchen.

“I love you,” Steven says, tightening his fingers on the back of Andrew’s neck. No matter how many times Andrew hears the words, they remain the loveliest that he’s ever heard, and it’s his turn to sigh contently as he closes his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i'm so afraid of burning myself on the oven that I didn't learn how to use one until I was... uh... 20? so there's that.
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
